


Catching nothing all the time

by lowriseflare, threeguesses



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, F/M, MIKE LAWSON HUMAN DISASTER, Rough Sex, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:19:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8912380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowriseflare/pseuds/lowriseflare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeguesses/pseuds/threeguesses
Summary: Two things happen the morning after Mike fucks Ginny Baker in Chicago.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HEY WE HAVE WRITTEN A LOT OF FIC LATELY. This one is the sequel to [A better man might](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8310262), written for Sinning Sunday and posted a day late. Title is Bob Hicok, _Practice Makes Imaginary Backhands Perfect_.

Two things happen the morning after Mike fucks Ginny Baker in Chicago:

First, Mike fucks her _again_ , sitting her up on his lap and watching her grind down on him until she comes, her face heart-stoppingly lovely in the pale, early-morning sunshine.

And second, they agree that it can’t keep happening. That it’s out of their systems, one-and-done, no hard feelings. Ginny goes back to her hotel room and Mike spends his morning working out at Wrigley, lifting weights and stretching out his back, trying to ignore the pleasant thrum in his thighs. It gets harder at game time when Ginny collapses into the dugout looking downright languorous, both arms draped over the back of the bench and her legs spread like a boy, eyes sleepy and satisfied.

“Tired, Baker?” Mike asks, shamelessly pleased with himself. Ginny just grins.  

Still, that’s that. They don’t do it again. Mike tells himself it’s for the best, that he’s her captain and she’s making history and he has no business trying to relive his glory days by shoving his dick in her. Once was enough. Once was _more_ than enough.

It almost works. But then her selfies with Trevor Davis break and Amelia convinces the team to do the Body Issue, and suddenly everywhere Mike looks there’s Ginny Baker’s naked body, exquisite and perfect and achingly familiar. Just like that he’s the same sad, fat fuck of a month ago, the one who spends way too much time thinking about his rookie pitcher’s ass and not enough time thinking about either of their careers. He feels like a walking, talking sexual harassment lawsuit.

Ginny catches on. Of course Ginny catches on.

“So, when are you gonna take a look at my cutter?” she asks two weeks after the photoshoot, pressed up against him in a crowded booth at a brew pub in Denver. She smells like hotel shampoo and light beer.

“When we’re back in San Diego, rookie,” Mine says distractedly, glancing up at the TV. ESPN’s showing the pictures again, his ridiculous oiled self up there for everybody to see. Ginny’s significantly less ridiculous self is up there, too.

Ginny hums. “Something catch your attention, old man?” she asks, jerking her chin at the screen. When Mike turn to face her she’s smirking around her beer bottle, her eyes lit up and wicked.

Mike swallows. “Just myself,” he tells her. “You and I both know I put everyone else to shame.”

“Uh, _okay_ ,” Baker says, rolling her eyes even as her dimple pops. She looks at him for a moment, bottle halfway to her mouth. Then she reaches over and puts her hand on his thigh.

Mike freezes. At first she just rests her hand there, friendly and warm, but after a second she squeezes, her fingers biting deep into the muscle of his thigh. The feeling shoots straight to Mike’s dick.

“Okay,” she says, releasing him abruptly. “Let me up, I’m getting a pitcher.”

Mike gets to his feet after a too-long pause, a prickling sensation that feels suspiciously like a blush creeping up his neck. “Get extra glasses,” he tells her, clearing his throat.

Ginny grins at him, all innocence. “Sure.”

She keeps her hands to herself for the rest of the night, going shot for shot with Stubbs and playing a noisy game of quarters with Evers, whooping like a teenage boy every time she gets it in the cup. By the time they stumble back to the hotel, it almost feels like Mike imagined the whole thing.

“Sleep tight, assholes,” she calls, waving over her shoulder as she gets out of the elevator. Mike tells himself he isn’t disappointed to see her go.

He lets himself into his hotel room, dumping his button-down and undershirt in a pile on the chair and groaning as he rolls out his shoulders. He's leaning against the bathroom wall taking a leak when his phone rings.

It’s Ginny. Mike is so shocked he doesn't even think to stuff his dick away before he picks up, is still standing there holding it like an idiot when he thumbs the green phone button. “Baker?”

“That's my name,” she says. “Don't wear it out.” Then she doesn't say anything else, not hello or why she's calling or _anything_ , and right away Mike’s entire body goes on full alert.

“How you doing?” he asks, trying for safe and innocuous and knowing he's missed the mark as soon as it's out of his mouth. He's drunk, or something near it. He thinks Ginny was too when they left the bar.

“Can’t complain,” she tells him breezily. “What are you doing?”

Well. Mike shoves his dick back inside his jeans, trying not to handle it any more than necessary. “Just getting ready for bed.”

Ginny hums a little. “Ohh, I see. You in your pjs?”

“Nope,” Mike tells her, and he means it to sound like _nope still wearing pants,_ but it turns out it doesn't sound like that at all.

There's a long, electric pause. Mike knows he should clarify and tell her he’s still dressed—fuck, he should probably just hang up altogether—but he doesn't say a goddamn thing, standing there in the brightly lit bathroom with his fly open. When Ginny finally speaks, what she says is one-hundred percent on him: “Okay. So what _are_ you wearing?”

There it is. Mike closes his eyes. “Baker,” he says quietly, but Ginny doesn't answer. He leans his forehead against the wall for a moment. “You first,” he hears himself say.

That gets a laugh out of her, pleased and throaty. “What are you, shy all of a sudden?” she teases. “Mike _Lawson_. Who knew.”

Mike scowls, suddenly hugely irritated—at her, at the situation, at himself most of all. This can't be happening again, not when he’s been so damn careful. He’s about to hang up when she speaks.

“Sweatpants,” she says, so quietly he almost doesn't hear her. “Tank top.”

_Fuck_. Mike swallows hard. “That all?”

Ginny inhales. “Boyshorts. Black.”

“Oh,” he says softly, and he doesn't necessarily think he means to say it aloud. “Okay. I’m in my jeans.”

“That all?” Ginny mimics, her voice low and warm. Mike’s dick is starting to feel dangerously heavy.

“Boxers,” he tells her, and he has to swallow twice afterwards to clear his throat.

Ginny hums again. “What color?”

“Jesus, Baker, does it matter?” Mike scrubs a hand over his face. He walks out of the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bed, telling himself he’s not moving for any particular reason beyond the fact that his knees hurt. “Grey.”

“Grey,” Ginny repeats slowly and God, yeah, Mike’s dick is officially getting hard. It’s bent at a weird angle; he reaches down to adjust, touching himself exactly as much as is necessary and no more.

“Is it cold in your room?” Ginny asks, her voice louder than it was a second ago. “It’s freezing in here.”

That is...not where he thought this was going. Mike blinks. “I guess,” he says, flopping back onto the mattress and rubbing at his forehead. “Bump the heat up.”

“I could,” Ginny allows. “I just got in bed instead.”

Ah. Mike closes his eyes and thinks of the very first day he ever met her, the surprise of her palm connecting with his ass and the sudden realization that he might have grossly underestimated her. He sucks in a breath. _I’ll let you get to sleep, then_ , he opens his mouth to tell her.

“It’s kind of cold in here, I guess,” is what he says.

“You should get in bed too,” Ginny tells him, artless as a sack of bricks to the head, and Mike smiles for the first time in what feels like days.

“I should, huh,” he teases, but he slides in under the covers anyway, shucking his jeans as he goes. His belt buckle clatters, loud enough that he knows she can hear it. Mike isn't sure if he intended that or not. “Okay, I’m in, now what?”

Ginny huffs out a surprised sound. “ _Seriously_?”

“You seriously,” he says, stuffing the pillow behind his head. Christ, she's literally just a floor away. The thought makes him shiver.

Ginny doesn't say anything. Ginny doesn't say anything for a _long_ time, nothing but roaring silence in Mike’s ear. Then she makes a quiet sound, an inhale that isn't quite right, isn't quite gentle enough for lying sedately in bed watching late night television. Mike nearly bites through his own tongue. “Baker?”

“Yeah?” she asks, and yeah her voice is—her voice is not the voice of someone who is breathing evenly.

Mike swears aloud. “Baker, are you—?” Only then he can't ask. His dick is all-the-way hard, straining uncomfortably against the fabric of his boxers.

“Am I what?” Ginny prods quietly. Mike shuts his eyes. He tells himself he's just reaching down to adjust again, to take some of the pressure off, but as soon as he gets his hand on his dick he knows that's not what he's doing at all. He jacks himself once, gently, and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud.

“Are _you_?” Ginny asks.

“ _Ginny_ ,” Mike manages, swallowing thickly. Holy _fuck_ , he cannot be doing this with her. He wants to do this with her so fucking bad _._ From the thump of his heart you'd think he was holding a gun to his head instead of an iPhone 7.

That's when Blip texts to ask about car pickup.

Mike’s whole body runs cold, then hot, then clammy. For a second he honestly thinks he might puke. And it's nothing, it’s _fine_ —it's not like Blip knows that Mike’s got one hand shoved down the front of his boxers and Ginny fucking Baker on the other end of the line—but it's enough.

“Baker,” he says, his voice cracking like a teenage boy. “Honey, we can't do this again.”

He hangs up before she can reply, setting the phone on the bedside table like it's a bomb and taking a long, even breath. His dick is still hard. He strokes it once, then again, then gives in and starts jacking fast and furious towards an orgasm, thinking about Baker’s hair and her smile and the taste of her cunt, about her touching herself in a fucking hotel bed less than one hundred yards away. He’s two strokes away from coming when there's a pounding at the door.

_Fuck_. For a crazy second Mike thinks it's Blip, that he's found out somehow and come to beat Mike’s ass, but it's Baker, of course it's Baker, of course she would do this. “Lawson!” she calls through the door. She sounds fucking furious with him.

Mike stuffs his dick back inside his boxers, hissing at how sensitive he is. He drags his jeans on too, trying to tuck himself up under the waistband, but it's no good, there's an obvious lump. He scrubs both hands through his hair, tugging desperately, then walks over and wrenches the door open.

“What the hell,” Ginny says, pushing past him into the room. She looks down at his crotch. “Okay, so you were.”

Jesus _Christ_. “Rookie, you gotta leave,” Mike says, his voice breaking a little. She's wearing exactly what she said she was, sweatpants and a black tank. She's thrown a hoodie overtop but hasn't zipped it, and Mike can see she wasn't lying about the lack of bra.

“What, so you can finish?” Ginny hisses, frowning thunderously. Her eyes flick down again. “Need a hand?”

She's actually reaching for him. Mike grabs both of her wrists and holds. “Stop,” he begs. His dick is fucking twitching inside his boxers.

“I didn't finish either,” Ginny tells him, bringing her chin up, and fuck, Mike doesn't think she washed her hands. He can smell—

“You need to leave, Baker,” he repeats, tightening his grip on her wrists.

Ginny stands her ground. “Or what?”

Holy _hell_ , Mike cannot believe her. “Are you kidding me right now?” he asks, voice rising. “What exactly do you imagine is going to happen here?”

“You tell me,” Ginny snaps. Her gaze flicks down to his crotch again, overt. “Since I’m pretty sure you’ve been doing your fair share of imagining.”

Mike clenches his jaw. “Baker—”

“ _Lawson,_ ” Ginny echoes, micking his tone exactly. Mike would like to put his fist through the fucking wall. Nothing about this is fun anymore, not her mouth or her perfect tits or his ridiculous raging hard-on. And all of it serves him exactly right. He was playing with fire, and he knew it, and now—now—

“Say you don’t want to fuck me again,” Ginny dares him. “Say you don’t want to fuck me again, and I’ll go.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Mike all but yells at her, her whole body jerking as he yanks on her wrists for emphasis. Both of them realize at the same exact moment that he’s still holding on, Ginny's eyes flashing with something that is not anger.

Mike drops her wrists like he’s been burned. “Sorry,” he says, even though her expression suggests he has exactly nothing to apologize for. Fuck. Holy _fuck_.

Ginny looks away, taking a deep, shuddering breath that Mike somehow feels in his own lungs. Then she grins and fuck, seriously? Mike grabs her arms before she can reach for him again, putting her up against the wall.

“Fucking _stop_ ,” he growls, well aware that he's shouting and unable to help himself. “Act like a goddamn adult, Baker. You think this is cute?” It’s hard to pin her and keep their hips apart, but he’s managing. He has to. He's pretty sure if he lets her grind she’ll have him coming in under ten seconds.

“I'm not trying to be _cute_ ,” Ginny says, wrists flexing as she tests his grip. Mostly, though, she's just letting him hold her. Mike tries not to notice anything about her body language in this moment, her tipped up chin or the way she's relaxing into his grip, calm and trusting. “How close were you?” she asks, narrow-eyed.

Mike forces himself to breathe. He has her arms up over her head, literally the most sexual position he could have chosen. “Close,” he confesses helplessly.

Ginny bites her lip. “Sorry about that,” she says, sounding sincere. “Let go?”

Mike does, but only for a second, because as soon as Ginny’s free she slides down the wall, clearly going to her fucking _knees_ , and Jesus, nope, no way. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Mike asks, hauling her back up. Christ, she's a pitcher, he has to be more careful with her arms.

“Helping you out?” Ginny says, eyebrows raised. “Lawson, come on.”

“You come on!” Mike counters inanely, like his dick isn't throbbing at the prospect. “Is this a joke to you? We said once, Baker. You’re a rookie and I’m your captain, and I’m not about to just stand here and let you—let you—” He can’t even say it.

Ginny can, apparently: “Blow you?” she supplies calmly. Her voice is cool, but her eyes darkened dangerously on _rookie_ and just got darker. When she lifts her face to gaze at him they’re almost black. “That what you’re trying to say? Or did you forget I already have?”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Maybe it wasn’t that memorable, Baker, you ever think of that?” he asks, smiling at her affronted look. Then all of a sudden he's not smiling at all, because Ginny is arching her hips into his and he’s reacting before he even knows what's happening, spinning her to face the wall and yanking both arms up over her head, one thigh shoved hard into her ass. “ _Stop_ ,” he hisses.

Ginny doesn't even bother to turn her head. “Make me.”

Fuck. Mike drives his knee up between her legs, high enough and hard enough that she gasps. Even through both layers of clothing, her cunt is unbelievably warm. “How close were _you_?” he asks, fisting a hand in her hair and forcing her to look at him. Ginny swallows.

“Close,” she admits, licking her lips. She’s left her hands on the wall, her fingers flexing against the plaster. “Lawson.” Her voice is very quiet. “Please.”

Mike swears and yanks her sweatpants down around her knees, groping her ass through her underwear. Black, just like she said, and fuck, fuck, Mike can’t _believe_ he's doing this again. “Need me to make you, huh,” he says, squeezing roughly. She's wet enough that he can hear it when he handles her.

Ginny actually nods, wide-eyed, and yeah, this is happening. Mike cups her through her bottoms, one hand still fisted in her hair. He's never been this rough with a woman before, not even with Rachel at the very end of their marriage, the one time they fucked after he found out about the cheating. “Lawson, come on,” Ginny says, head lolling as he yanks at her hair again, her whole body gone hot and pliable. She reaches behind her to grab for him, but Mike thumps her wrist back against the wall.

“Come on what?” he demands, working two fingers into her underwear and grazing the warm, smooth seam of her cunt. Ginny squirms. “Tell me what you want.”

“Touch me,” she gasps, dropping her hips to push herself at his fingers. Mike pulls his hand away.  

“No,” he says, giving her hair one more pull before reaching down and smacking her ass. “Get in bed.”

Ginny sucks in a breath then grins at him over her shoulder, wicked and knowing. “Really? Is this your kink?” She steps out of her sweatpants then shrugs out of her hoodie, yanking off her tank top to reveal her long brown back and two deep dimples above her waistband. Mike wants to bend her over the mattress like nothing else in his life. “I gotta say, this isn’t what I thought the ass slapping was about.”

“‘In another context’, remember?” Mike says, grinning in spite of himself. She's exactly as gorgeous as he remembers, her breasts round and young and gravity-defying, so much fuller than her sports bras give her credit for. Mike can’t say he’s heartbroken this is happening again.

“Oh yeah?” Ginny asks, cupping herself. Mike is on her in less than two strides, dumping her on the mattress and bending down to seal his mouth over one tight nipple. She tastes like salt and skin.

“Yeah,” he tells her quietly. Suddenly it feels like he can't catch his breath. He uses his teeth, probably too much, his free hand coming up squeeze her roughly. He forces himself to calm down, sucking the abused nipple apologetically, and Ginny makes a sound that’s just— _fuck_.

“Shit,” he asks, hauling them both to a seated position and making her kneel over his lap. “That's a thing you like?” He does it again, gently, and Ginny nearly claws his hair off. “That's a thing you like,” he concludes smugly, pulling away to look at her.

Ginny makes a face. “Yeah,” she says, grabbing his wrist and forcing his hand under the waistband of her boyshorts. “But this is a thing I like more.”

She's soaking wet, prickly against his palm like it's been a few days since she shaved. Mike’s head swims like he's four shots deep instead of just a handful of beers. “What were you doing?” he asks desperately. “Before, what were you doing?”

“Like, specifically?” Ginny asks, rocking her hips impatiently. “Fucking myself.”

“Shit.” Mike ignores her cunt and reaches for her right hand instead, bringing it up to his mouth. “This one?” he asks, but he can already tell, her fingers smell like her cunt, sharp and familiar. He sucks on them one at a time and Ginny hisses, spreading her knees and trying to force herself onto his fingers.

“Hold still,” he orders, pulling his hand partway out of her underwear. Ginny whines.

“But—”

“You wanna get fucked or not, Baker?”

Ginny freezes where she is, dark eyes widening. Mike grins. “That's what I thought.” He pushes two fingers inside her all at once, swearing quietly when he meets exactly no resistance. “You're hard up for it, huh rook?” he asks quietly, pumping them in and out a couple of times. “This what you needed?”

“Shut up,” Ginny gasps, but her expression is pleading. “Yes.”

“Too bad,” Mike says, and pulls his fingers out again. “Turn over.”

Ginny groans loud enough that he's pretty sure they can hear her in the room next door. “Mean,” she says, but she does what he says, flipping over onto her belly and fisting one hand in her hair. Mike hauls her hips up, dragging her boyshorts off and bending his head to bite at the place where her thigh meets her ass. Fuck, he wants her all over his face.

“You're gorgeous,” he tells her, forgetting himself for a second. When he grips her thighs he there's no give at all, just thick smooth muscle. Mike wants her to wrap them around his head until he suffocates.

Ginny looks back over her shoulder and rolls her hips slow and theatrical, flashing her cunt at him. It should be ridiculous—it's _Ginny_ , with her mid-range ERA and her endless supply of Nike leggings, Ginny who slouches like a boy in the dugout and can spit farther than Mike—but somehow it really, really isn't.

“Fuck,” Mike groans, ducking his head again. It's a shitty angle, though, plus his neck is already starting to ache, so he flips over to lie on his back, scooting up the mattress until his face is directly under her cunt. “Come here,” he says, tugging.

Ginny gasps. “Holy _shit_ ,” she whispers, dropping her hips down to give him access. Mike opens her up with both thumbs. As soon as he starts licking she moans into the pillows, spreading her legs even wider and rocking herself against his mouth with exactly zero shame. She's so into it that for a moment Mike completely forgets he's trying to teach her...whatever lesson it is he's trying to teach her. She tastes exactly like he remembers.

“Please,” she says again, voice muffled in the pillows. She shoves one hand down to yank at his hair. Mike works two fingers back inside her, gentle in spite of himself, but he's barely had time to crook them before Ginny’s crying out and coming, full body shudder and the desperate, rhythmic clutch of her cunt. Mike turns his head and bites her thigh as she’s finishing up.

“Damn,” she gasps, collapsing onto the mattress beside him. “You still mad at me, old man?”

Mike wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yep,” he says, although in truth he’s feeling pretty agnostic about the whole thing. “You landed us right the fuck in it, rook.”

Ginny laughs. “In it?”

Mike nods, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers and stripping them off. No point in pretending tonight isn't ending with him balls deep. “Yeah. Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been trying to avoid a repeat of this little scenario for a month.”

“Yeah?” Ginny asks quietly, and shit, her voice is something else entirely.

“Don't be too flattered,” he tells her, trying to play it off. “I went two rounds with Leo too.”

Ginny wrinkles her nose. “Well, that’s understandable,” she says, reaching over to wrap her fist around his cock. “Seeing as he’s prettier than me.”

Mike tries not to grin at her playful expression, and mostly fails. “Damn right,” he says, thrusting up into her grip. Fuck, he likes the way her hand looks curled around him way too much.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “Shut up,” she says. She lets go abruptly, shoving him onto his back and ducking her face to lick up the entire length of his cock, wet and sloppy. When she opens her mouth to suck, Mike groans.

“Yeah?” Ginny glances up at him, tucking her hair behind her ears. Her eyes narrow. “ _Actually_ ,” she says, then straightens up, flipping over onto her back and jamming an extra pillow underneath her head. She smacks his shoulder, raising her eyebrows. “Come up here.”

Mike’s heart stops. “Come— _Baker_ ,” he says, shaking his head even as he’s rolling over and pushing himself up into a kneel. He’s not about to—he can’t—

“What’s the matter?” Ginny asks, tucking her arms up underneath the pillows and dropping her mouth open in a blatant tease. “Not your kink?”

“Fuck off,” Mike tells her, with exactly zero heat. He swings a leg over to straddle her, then walks up her body on his knees, Ginny grinning at him the whole while. Mike remembers this from the last time, her outrageous self-confidence and how sexy it was, how sure she was that she was going to be good at anything she tried. He wants to know who she learned this particular trick with.

“Gentle,” she warns. She’s left her arms tucked so it falls to Mike to reach down and line himself up, trying not to groan at the first touch of her tongue. Ginny’s still fighting a grin, dimple popping even as Mike’s stuffing her mouth full of his cock, and holy _fuck_ he cannot believe they’re doing this. When she gives him some suction he thrusts once, just gently, and Ginny raises her eyebrows.

“ _Shit_ ,” Mike gasps, and then he's doing it for real, fucking his twenty-three-year old rookie in her beautiful, clever face. He keeps his thrusts shallow, not wanting to choke her, but then Ginny’s arms slip out from under the pillow and he lets her yank him deeper, everything wet and warm and sloppy. She keeps her eyes open the whole time.

“Okay,” he gasps finally, pulling away. There’s spit slicked all down her chin. “Fuck, Baker, come here.” He flops onto his back and pulls her on top of him, cupping the back of her curly head and dragging her down for a kiss. It's the first time he's done it so far tonight, he realizes with a jolt. It feels strangely intimate, her plush bottom lip and the cautious way she rakes her fingers through his hair, the faint scrape of her sooty eyelashes. When she rocks her hips against him, the stubble between her legs scratches his thigh.

Ginny hums. “What about now?” she asks, widening her eyes at him playfully. “You mad at me now?”

Mike sucks gently at her bottom lip. “Warming up,” he admits, hooking an ankle behind hers and rolls them over. He yanks her arms up over her head and pulls until her back arches, her breasts drawing up high and tight. Ginny lets him hold her there, even though it can't be a comfortable position.

“This what it takes to make you listen, Baker?” he hears himself ask. “An orgasm and my dick in your mouth?”

“Shit, _Lawson_ ,” Ginny gasps, losing her arch abruptly as her legs drop open with a thump. She bites at his mouth and Mike yanks again, pulling away.

“Behave,” he tells her. He’s starting to enjoy himself now, her wide brown eyes and her desperate expression, how he can smell her from all the way up here. He wants to make out with her like this for hours, until her arms are sore and she's begging him to let her move.

Ginny twists under his grip. “Behave, huh. Gonna make me call you captain too?” She narrows her eyes, arching again. “Or did you have something else in mind?”

“Like what?” Mike asks, distracted by her wiggling. Ginny shrugs.

“Like daddy,” she says nonchalantly. The bottom drops right out of Mike’s stomach.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Baker,” he says, trying to recover—but fuck, already he wants to hear her say it again, he wants to hear her say it over and over. He emphatically did not know that was a thing he liked. “I gotta tell you, I didn’t think you’d be so fucking dirty.”

“Yeah, well.” Ginny purses her full lips at him, pleased. She arches her hips, the tip of his cock catching against her opening for the briefest of seconds. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly.” Mike shifts his weight, rocking so that his dick slides along the wet, slippery length of her, and Ginny gasps. He thinks about it for a second, about shoving himself inside her with no preamble and no condom, how tight and hot and good she’d probably feel. He thinks he could convince her, if he wanted to. Fuck, she might not even need to be convinced.

“Outside pocket of my backpack,” he says, rolling off her before he can give in to the impulse. “Go get ‘em.”

“Lazy,” Ginny scolds, but she scoots off the bed anyway, rustling through his bag until she comes up with the condoms. “Should I bring two, or are you gonna be one and done like last time?”

“Fuck off,” he says, which makes her bust up laughing. When she flops back onto the mattress he sees she's only brought one. Mike palms it, ripping open the foil and rolling it onto his dick in a rush. “You’re asking for it,” he tells her, and she grins wider. Mike feels himself blush.

Ginny is watching him. “I don’t have to call you anything if you don’t want,” she informs him.

Fuck. “Yeah you do,” Mike growls, knocking her thighs open and lining himself up. He forces himself to go slow, the urge to give in and bury himself so strong he can feel it in his teeth. When he looks down, Ginny’s eyes are gratifyingly wide. After a second she narrows them playfully, mouthing something that looks a fuck of a lot like— _holy shit._ Mike bottoms out in one rough thrust that's entirely out of his control.

“Shit,” Ginny says out loud, her thighs widening under him as she hurries to make room. “Shit, I forgot you were this big.”

“How big?” Mike asks. He's blushing so hard it feels like his whole body is on fire. He drops his face down against her neck for a second, taking a breath. 

“Really?” Ginny chides, though her voice is satisfyingly breathless. She reaches up and scrapes her nails through his hair, tugging until he raises his head and looks at her. “What do you want to hear, huh?” She lifts her knees, one chilly heel bumping against the small of his back. “That you’re the biggest I’ve ever, _ever_ —”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “Am I?” he asks, and Ginny cackles out loud.

“I dunno, old man,” she says, rolling her hips underneath him, all confidence and vinegar and smooth, unblemished skin. “You want me to say that shit, you’re gonna have to work a little harder for it.”

Mike’s eyes narrow. “Really.” He starts fucking her in earnest then, hard rhythm and deep, punishing thrusts, his balls slapping against her and the mattress squeaking way more than it should be in a hotel this high-end. His knees are already aching. He’s never cared less about his knees in his life. “How’s that?” he asks, when Ginny tips her dark head back and moans at the ceiling. “That working hard enough for you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ginny hisses, reaching up to brace herself with both hands against the headboard. Her eyes keep squeezing shut then fluttering open again, her face suddenly transformed by tension.

“That’s it,” Mike says, rolling his hips and giving it to her harder. “That’s it, rookie, take it.” He can hardly believe the shit he’s saying. The faces she’s making are driving him insane.

Ginny can’t believe it either, apparently. She lets out one high, surprised-sounding whimper before her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Fuck, _Lawson_ ,” she gasps, her eyes popping open to stare at him. For the first time all night, her tone is one-hundred percent sincere.

“Yeah?” he asks, fucking her harder, and Ginny nods at him, her face gone vulnerable and young. Mike shifts his weight and gathers up her right knee, wanting to hold her. “Tell me how big I am now,” he murmurs, angling for a smile and getting it.

“Asshole,” Ginny half-gasps, half-laughs, but she’s clearly close, her cunt pulling at him greedily. “Tell me I’m tight first.”

Oh God. Mike remembers how much she liked the talking last time and feels his dick twitch. “You’re so fucking tight, Baker,” he says, pressing his lips against her brow. “You’re so tight, and you’re so wet, and I wanna take off this stupid condom and just fill you up with—” Jesus Christ, what the fuck is he saying? He’s nowhere near that drunk.

Ginny whines, sharp and loud, her head kicking back again. “Fuck,” she says to the ceiling. “Lawson, _fuck_.” She reaches for her clit, her face going slack. “Gonna. Gonna, gonna, watch me, watch—”

Mike groans, his hips working double-time. “I’m watching, rookie,” he says quietly, and that’s clearly it for Ginny because she freezes in place, her cunt tightening up around him exquisitely as she whimpers. Mike presses his mouth against her temple. “That’s a girl,” he whispers. Ginny hums her satisfaction in reply, collapsing bonelessly onto the sheets.

Mike snorts. “Yeah, nice try,” he says, clapping her on the hip as he pulls out. “Turn over.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ginny repeats, but she does it, boosting herself up onto her knees and spreading her legs for him, her whole red swollen self on display. Mike ducks down and licks her from cunt to ass, tasting sweat and latex and Ginny, before he gets himself lined up and pushes back inside.

Ginny hisses. “Okay,” she says, fingers curling into the sheets. “Okay, yes, fine, you win, you’re the biggest ever.”

Mike bites back a groan, but only barely. It occurs to him to be glad she can't see his face. “Oh yeah?” he asks, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her, palming her ass hard enough to bruise. “You sure?”

“ _Yes_ , you asshole.” Ginny makes a muffled sound into the pillows, somewhere between a laugh and a moan. “I can feel you in my damn stomach right now, is that what you want to hear? _Shit_.”

Mike groans for real, his hips starting to stutter. “Baker,” he murmurs. “Fuck.” He wants to last but there’s just no way. When she arches he has an almost uninterrupted view of his own dick, thick and red inside the condom. He finds himself mesmerized by the way he looks disappearing inside her, her cunt wet and stretched.

Ginny glances over her shoulder and laughs. “Really?” she says, but then she reaches around and takes his hand, spreading it across her lower belly. “There, Lawson. You’re right there.”

Mike opens his mouth to answer but suddenly he’s coming, burying himself inside her and emptying his balls into the condom. It feels like it goes on forever. “Baker,” he says, yanking at her hair. His knees are fucking screaming at him. “Holy shit.”

“Thanks,” Ginny mutters against the pillows, and he laughs.

He pulls out more quickly than he means to and she whines in protest, her knees drawing up underneath her. Mike pets her side in clumsily conciliation as he collapses on his back on the mattress. Fuck, he’ll be lucky if he can stand tomorrow. He can’t keep doing this. _They_ can’t keep doing this. “Baker,” he says to the ceiling, then snaps his jaw shut.

“I know,” Ginny says quietly. She’s dropped herself down onto the bed beside him, all big eyes and darkly flushed cheeks, the baby hairs around her face frizzing wildly. Mike wants to kiss her straight until morning. “Next time I’ll stay in my room, okay? Take care of things my own damn self and never tell you about it one way or the other.”

Mike groans out loud. “Baker,” he says, reaching up to rub a hand through his sticky beard, “that’s not—”

“Isn't it?” Ginny interrupts. She rolls onto her back, throwing an arm over her face. “I’ll leave in a second, okay? I just need a minute.”

“Stop,” Mike tells her, reaching up and dragging her arm away. “Come on.”

“You come on,” Ginny says, rolling to face him again. “Mike, be real. You were pissed at me for even coming over here.”

Mike swallows, his heart lurching strangely at the use of his first name. “Well, I’m not pissed anymore, rookie,” he says, sliding his hand down and tangling their fingers together. “C’mere.”

Ginny sighs noisily but she lets him pull her on top of him, her warm body packed and solid in a way he doesn’t usually think of girls as being. He works his free hand through her hair. Mike knows this is the part where he ought to say something—that he cares about her and he’s trying to look out for both of them, that he’s afraid if they don’t stop doing this soon he’s not going to be able to stop at all. Instead he drags her down to kiss him, closing his eyes and wrapping both arms around her. Ginny kisses him back.  


End file.
